The Difference
by ravingbeauty
Summary: Oneshot. Draco figures out the difference between what he wants and what he needs. DMHG.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of J.K.'s other characters.

Note: This is not a song fic, but it was inspired by "The Difference" by Matchbox 20. I've included the lyrics to the song after the story, though I'd strongly urge you to listen to it sometime – it's a beautiful song.

**The Difference**

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Draco absently ran his hand through his white-blond hair as he turned away from the hearth. Behind him, the green flames died down at the severed Floo connection. Lucius had just informed him of an upcoming raid – the first he would be required to attend, directly after his impending initiation ceremony.

The Death Eaters were dumb, but that didn't mean they were stupid. They always kept an abundant supply of mini-Death Eaters on hand. Those waiting to be initiated gathered intelligence, kept an eye out for new developments, and undertook small, low-risk assignments. Without the Dark Mark, they were practically impossible either to catch or convict. Very useful.

Draco had functioned as a glorified secretary thus far. He kept all the records, tracked each Death Eater's performance, looked for signs of defection in financial transactions and correspondence. It was unusual for an uninitiated wizard to be trusted with such important information. But after all – he was the son of Lucius Malfoy.

Draco grimaced at the thought of his father. Still, his status had come in handy. It had meant that not quite so many people had been looking over Draco's shoulder, poised to discover a secret like, oh, a Muggleborn lover for instance.

Crossing over to his mahogany desk, Draco pulled a bottle of brandy from the drawer. Big news always called for a drink.

And Lucius was proud for once. The last time his father had been proud of him… Hm. Come to think of it, he _never_ had been. At least not that Draco could recall. Maybe a very long time ago, back before the second rise of the Dark Lord.

Draco frowned. How had Lucius reacted to his first words? First manifestation of power? Wandless spell? No clue. Draco seemed to remember something that might have been a smile from Lucius as his son climbed onto his first broom.

Then he shrugged. No matter. Broom rides and smiles were irrelevant here. Now what he needed was to please his father and Voldemort. Fulfill his role a Pureblood and a Malfoy. Honorable things like that.

As he poured himself a drink, though, its amber hue arrested his attention…

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_The first time he'd ever really noticed her, she'd been hidden away in a corner of the library, bent over her work and scribbling away furiously. The awful noise of her quill had caused him to look over, but as soon as he'd seen her, Draco had forgotten all about it. Light from a window was pouring in around her, catching each shade in her dark hair. And that particular color…_

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He quickly swallowed the brandy as he suppressed the memories. No more know-it-all Head Girls now. Draco shuddered a bit as the burn spread through his body. Then he pulled out a sheaf of papers and perused them slowly. They were a new batch of records. Rosters of Death Eaters, their locations, their financial holdings, their missions… everything. It was all there.

One in particular caught his attention. The surname "Granger" headed the page. Draco laughed bitterly and took another belt. Merlin, there was no escaping her tonight. Then he scanned the rest of the parchment. His silver eyes widened in surprise. No, _not_ her. Her _parents_. Dead, as of yesterday evening. If he'd known…

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_Images flashed before him. Hermione with her photo album, happy and pointing out her favorite memories. Five years old, all Band-Aids and scabbed knees, next to her first 'big girl' bike. Seven years old and camping with her dad. Her first batch of brownies – they'd appeared delicious until a single taste revealed she'd put in one half cup of salt instead of one half teaspoon. Eleven years old, kissing her parents goodbye as she boarded the Hogwarts Express. _

_Then Hermione, eyes full of pain, looking like she'd just been kicked in the stomach. Hermione walking away, himself just letting her, choosing duty over his lover…_

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Get a grip, Malfoy, he ordered himself irritably. Hermione wasn't here. Work was, however. And if it wasn't finished on time, Draco doubted that the Dark Lord would accept _any_ excuse, let alone the "I couldn't concentrate because I'm in love with Potter's Mudblood best friend" defense. Besides, what would the Gryffindor princess want with his second-hand heart, anyway?

Yes. Work was definitely what he needed to do. Work was good. Wanting to see Hermione, kiss her, worship every inch of her body, was totally irrelevant and unimportant. Needs before wants. Always.

Draco finished the last of his brandy and clapped his hands once as he eagerly got down to business: Lestrange, Rudolphus. Attack on Auror Abrams, Hamish. Mission completed successfully: spells cast included crucio, avada kedavra. Right…

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_Hermione, flushed and furious in the middle of an argument. Draco had never known someone could be so passionate about rune translations. He'd grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth, just as she'd launched into a rebuttal of his interpretation of the rune tiwaz. She'd frozen, eyes wide, for just long enough to terrify him. Draco was considering the merit of jumping off the Astronomy Tower when she'd kissed him back, her mouth warm and firm and heavenly. _

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No.

Not Hermione.

_Avery_. Contributed 7.2 of annual income to funding Dark Lord's many nefarious activities. A bit on the low side, Draco noted as he crunched numbers and sorted through Avery's convoluted fiscal accounts. He allowed himself a small smile as he looked at the Muggle calculator he used…

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_Hermione, almost a year after their first kiss and some weeks after their graduation. She was twirling to show him her dress, looking so damn beautiful he couldn't breath. His distress must have shown on his face, because she'd suddenly stopped. She'd come to him, wrapping her warm arms around his waist as he'd kissed her forehead and buried his hands in her hair…_

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Bah! This was getting ridiculous! Productivity was being particularly elusive tonight, Draco noted. He allowed himself a rare display of temper as he tossed the file into a drawer and slammed it shut.

Then he proceeded to storm out of his luxurious townhouse. He roughly shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the sound of ripping stitches as he finally made it outside.

That first breath of freezing air burned all the way down to his lungs. Still, Draco felt revived. Who said resuscitation had to be pleasant? He blindly chose a direction and started walking. He just went. All the while, facts and figures danced in front of him. But they never quite crowded out the image of two brown eyes.

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Draco was still walking hours later. A rough spot in the sidewalk jarred him out of his trance and for the first time he noticed he was both cold and exhausted. More importantly, though, he noticed where he was.

Of course – of all places, he _would_ wind up here. He sighed as he trudged up the steps of the flat in front of him and knocked.

"Draco," she said quietly as she opened the door. She didn't seem at all surprised. Or sad, or happy, for that matter. Her expressive face was… blank, while her usually sparkling amber eyes were just a flat brown.

"I didn't know, Hermione," he started clumsily. Merlin, how does one go about apologizing, anyway? Was it physically possible for a Malfoy?

"I – I'm sorry."

There. Apparently it was possible.

Just for good measure, he looked up at her – when had he gotten to his knees? – and said it again. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I never wished any harm to your parents, but I only just found out…"

Draco fell silent and just waited. In a moment she'd be either hexing him or summoning Aurors to arrest him.

"Would you like to come in?"

The words took him by surprise. Draco slowly got to his feet as he surveyed the threshold of her Muggle apartment. He recognized that there was a larger invitation here she was offering him. A larger choice.

For a brief moment he weighed the woman in front of him against his father's circle. Then without a second thought, he stepped through the doorway and gathered her into his arms.

As they retreated into the warmth of her flat, a single question ran through Draco's mind…

How had he been wrong about what he needed the whole time?

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**Author's Note: Please leave me a note! I haven't written much at all and I'd love some pointers, critiques, suggestions, ideas, etc. Thanks!**

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As promised, here are the lyrics for "The Difference" by Matchbox 20:

The Difference

Slow dancing on the boulevard  
In the quiet moments while the city's still dark  
Sleepwalking through the summer rain and the tired spaces  
You could hear her name when she was warm and tender  
And you held her arms around you  
There was nothing but her love and affection  
She was crazy for you  
Now she's part of something that you lost…

And for all you know  
This could be  
The difference between what you need  
And what you wanna be  
Yeah, what you wanna be…

Night swimming in her diamond dress  
Making small circles move across the surface  
Stand watching from the steady shore  
Feeling wide open and waiting for  
Something warm and tender  
Now she's moving further from you  
There was nothing that could make it easy on you  
Every step you take reminds you that she's walking wrong

Yeah, for all you know  
This could be  
The difference between what you need  
And what you want

Every word you never said  
Echoes down your empty hallway  
And everything that was your world  
Just came down

Day breaking on the boulevard  
Feel the sun warming up your second hand heart  
Light swimming right across your face  
And you think maybe someday, yeah  
Maybe someday

For all you know  
Yeah, this could be  
The difference between what you need  
And what you want

Yeah, for all you know  
For all you know  
Yeah, for all that you know  
This is what you wanna be  
Girl, what you wanna be…


End file.
